


Teach Me

by murdoke



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdoke/pseuds/murdoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>In a way, the story of how they got together.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The characters, of course, belong to the BBC.

It all started the night John broke up with Sarah. Well, not really. It had started long before that, when John found the bullet hole in his floor. But that's another story.

John came home and plopped down on the couch beside Sherlock. His flatmate, never missing anything, could see he was feeling a little down. "Did you break up with Sarah?"

"How did you—never mind. Yes, I did. It just wasn't…good anymore. We were always fighting, and when we weren't fighting, we were having sex. And when we weren't having sex—even when we were, sometimes—we'd be making each other feel bad."

And that got them on the topic of relationships, which got them on to sex, which got them on to the surprising fact that Sherlock had never French kissed anyone. Kissed, he had, but never with tongue.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's surprise. "Of course I've kissed and been kissed, John, I've just never felt a need for all that unnecessary _saliva_."

John realized he should have figured that Sherlock had _some_ experience (especially after that little show he had out on for John)- "But…well, you said you were married to your work."

"I didn't always work, John. And besides, how can I know why sex motivates humans to do such amazing and horrible things if I've never experienced it?"

"Well, fine. But you've _never_ kissed with tongue?"

"God , John, if that's such an issue, why don't you teach me?"

"Teach you…how to kiss properly!" Wheels began turning in the good doctor's mind. This had so much potential. But wait. What? He was straight. He had always been straight. (Try telling that to his cock.)

"Yes. In the name of knowledge. If this is such an issue, I should know how to do it." Sherlock smiled slightly as John looked away, then back at him.

"Well, bloody fine then." He scooted closer to Sherlock. _I can't believe I'm doing this. Well, yes I can. Shut up, brain!_

"All right. What do I do?" The detective asked as he moved closer, putting one leg under his body and sitting so he was fully facing John.

The good doctor was a bit flustered. He was about to kiss his bloody flatmate, for one, and besides, he had never taught anyone to kiss before, let alone a man. "Well, ah, hmm. Okay. When our lips meet, don't open your mouth right away. Let it last for a moment. Then open up, and if you're feeling bold, go for a little tongue, or let the other person make the move first. Put your hands on my shoulders, or on my waist. Um, that's all I can think of. You ready?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Go for it."

They leaned towards each other, slowly, each not taking his eyes off the other's face. The play of emotions Sherlock could see in John's face was amazing, jumping from confused to eager to scared to aroused, all in the space of a second. Their lips met softly, so softly, and John closed his eyes. Sherlock's hand rested on the good doctor's thigh, and John's hand splayed itself across the detective's chest. He could feel the younger man's warmth radiating through his shirt. John opened his mouth a little, and Sherlock followed suit. They stayed like that a moment, just breathing into each other. John's tongue brushed against Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock moved his tongue to meet John's, and licked behind the older man's teeth. John angled his head slightly, and sucked Sherlock's tongue lightly. The younger man moved forward a little, and his hand migrated back towards John's ass.

They both jumped as Mrs Hudson slammed the door downstairs, and they stared at each other, staying close, breathing a little heavily.

"Again?" asked Sherlock innocently. "I don't think I've quite got it down."

John laughed a little, a bit nervously. "We've barely even started."

Their mouths moved forward once again, and John barely hesitated before opening his mouth, Sherlock following him, following for the first time in his life. The doctor's hand slid up, across the detective's neck, just a whisper, and gripped hard in his hair. The other hand rested gently on the younger man's stomach, then slipped under his shirt, barely touching the warm flesh there. It migrated up until the fingers found a taught nipple, and brushed it lightly. _Did he really just go there? Damn right he did._

Sherlock breathed in sharply as John's thumb brushed his nipple and John's tongue did glorious things inside his mouth. Remembering what the older man had done earlier, he sucked John's tongue, hard, and was rewarded with a harsh intake of breath and a bit of a hair pull, which he decided he quite liked. He gripped the other man's butt with both hands and changed the angle of his mouth a little, nipping lightly at John's lip.

_Dear god, he said he'd never done this before. He's a damn quick learner, then,_ John thought, and moved his hand slowly down Sherlock's chest, towards the button of his jeans. He fumbled a bit, and Sherlock actually undid it himself. John pulled down the zipper and just rested his hand there. He could taste Sherlock, a minty undertone to his breath (but it was evening, and he didn't believe in chewing gum, why..)

_Damn, he went for it,_ Sherlock though with delight. He hadn't realized (Lies! Of course he had) that he wanted John this way. He'd had a feeling that John wanted him, it was so obvious after the bullet hole incident. But he realized the older man still wasn't sure of Sherlock, so the detective decided to help him out, lifting hip hips a little to encourage John's hand.

John took the hint and slipped his hand into Sherlock's underwear, the other gripping his hair hard, and touched a cock that wasn't his own in an un-doctorly way for the first time in his life. _You're so hard,_ he thought, and then realized he'd said it aloud when Sherlock chuckled—a deep, dark, sexy laugh, a fuck-me-now-you-know-you-want-to laugh, and John realized he did indeed want to. Even though he was so goddamn sure he was straight, dammit. Bloody Sherlock was the only man he'd ever felt the slightest hint of desire for. Fuck it. He gripped the younger man's surprisingly long cock (it wasn't that surprising, have you seen how tall and…long everything about Sherlock is? Why was he so surprised?) gently, just holding, nothing more, and breathed in the scent and taste of Sherlock.

Sherlock, with John's cool hand on him (why were his hands always so _cold_ ,) got a bit more bold. He slid a hand from the doctor's ass, along his thigh, and gently stroked his erection through his jeans. The other man moaned. _He's so…thick. I've never had anyone this thick ._ Of course Sherlock had had a few. Sex could be useful.

They bolted apart when the phone rang. Sherlock cleared his throat, his voice (god, his voice) an octave lower than usual. "I should probably get that."

"Yeah." They looked down at John's hand, still in Sherlock's jeans. "Well, um, you do that," he said, gently withdrew his hand, and practically flew upstairs to his room. _What the fuck had just happened? Why did he want it to happen again?_

Sherlock sat on the couch a moment, and then got up to answer the phone.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The second time it happened, they were being chased down yet another alleyway.

"In here, John," said Sherlock, pulling the doctor into a little depression and shoving him against the wall, covering him completely with his body.

"What're you-?"  
"Shut up! I want him to go back and tell the others. They'll be spooked because he knows I'm on to them, make a mistake, not cover their tracks, and then Lestrade can have his precious evidence." Sherlock shifted, pressing closer to John as though he was trying to melt them into the wall.

John looked up at him—the insanely sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, _very_ interesting mouth…. Sherlock's hands were pressed against the wall on either side of John's head. He looked down, and John's eyes were trapped in his.

"Your pupils are dilated."

"What?"

Sherlock signed. He hated repeating himself. "Your pupils. They're dilated. They weren't a minute ago. Dilated pupils are usually a sign of arousal."

"Or, you know, it could be because it's fucking dark, Sherlock."

"It could be. But they dilated further when I pointed it out."

_Shit_ , John thought. He cleared his throat and looked away, which ended up being down at Sherlock's chest. Mmmm, Sherlock's chest. Wait. What? No. Not mmmm. Not cool thoughts, John. You're straight, remember? _Remember_? He looked back up at Sherlock's face. But… "Your pupils are dilated, too."

"…Yes, I suspect they are."

John blinked slowly. "What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means, John?"

"It's fucking dark?"

"Wrong, John." He leaned down a bit, bringing that delicious mouth just a little closer to the doctor's face. John breathed in deeply, his chest pressing further into Sherlock's, and exhaled as the detective brought his hand down to John's face, cupping his cheek. The good doctor stared up at him, eyes wide, breathing heavily. Sherlock bent his head down towards John, just a little, still watching, still figuring him out, just _staring_ at him, but differently than usual. Usually, it's an overly confident, I-know-what-you're-going-to-say/do-so-don't-even-bother type of stare, but this one, _this_ one was different. This one was almost the same, but with a hint of you-know-you-want-to-so-come-on-and- _do_ -it added in. And oh god, John realized he very much wanted to. He stretched up, nearly closing the gap between their lips, then though _to hell with it_ and pulled Sherlock down by the lapels of his coat, crushing their mouths together. John moaned, thrusting his hips into the taller man's (missing a bit because of the height difference, but who cared at that point), threading his fingers into all that hair.

The hand on John's cheek moved a bit, thumb pulling down on chin, pushing his mouth open, allowing Sherlock's tongue to snake in, along with his taste, the same taste as last time, that faint minty undertone. Sherlock's other hand traveled down, cupping John's face for an instant, passing over a nipple (nnrgh), and coming to rest on a hip, kneading gently. One of John's hands migrated around to the younger man's arse, gripping tightly. Sherlock broke the kiss, his lips fluttering to John's jaw, gently biting his neck, moving up to his ear and having a bit of fun. And then—"I would have you right now, John, if you'd let me."

The good doctor figured he probably would have melted to the ground right there if he wasn't being pressed into the wall so hard as to practically leave an imprint. Because oh god, his _voice_ , and even more of a (slightly alarmed) oh god, he would probably let him.

John fairly growled. "Back to the flat. Now."

* * *


	3. Teach Me Chapter 3

They ran home instead of catching a cab (they were only a few blocks away, after all,) saying nothing, just running next to each other, breathing together. The entire time, John's thoughts were bouncing between _oh go it's really happening it's really happening, what the fuck are you doing Watson?,_ and _I can't wait until I get to… whatever. Just, mmm._ Sherlock beat him to the door (of course,) slamming it behind them, and then slamming John up against it, his hands streaking everywhere, mouth hot on John's. For a moment, John slightly forgot how to breathe, and when he remembered, all he could breathe in was the smell of Sherlock. He opened his mouth, tasting Sherlock, that minty hint that was always there, and then Sherlock was dragging him upstairs to John's room, pulling him down on the bed. John fell on top of Sherlock, straddling him, and caught the younger man's hands in his own, pressing them into the bed above Sherlock's head.

"Slow down, Sherlock. I want this to last," he said, a bit out of breath. Sherlock just laughed softly.

"Oh, it'll last, John." He lifted his head, searching for a kiss, and John met his mouth with his own, starting the kiss softer, calmer than the others, dragging it out until they were both panting. At some point, John became aware of the rather insistent erection pressing into his thigh, and the slight discomfort of his own pressing into the detective's stomach. The older man shifted so that not all his weight was on Sherlock, relieving some of the pressure (though not in the way he would have liked.) John released one of Sherlock's hands so he could toy with the younger man's buttons. He'd never been in this position with a man before. Hell, he'd never been in any position with a man before. But, there was just _something_ about Sherlock.

Sherlock saw that John was starting to think, and decided to rectify that. He took advantage of John being distracted and quickly flipped him over, switching their positions. John squealed a little (though he'd deny it later, of course) and reached up to pull Sherlock's head down for another short kiss. The detective kept John's one hand trapped in his, and John had trapped his before, and began to deftly undo the older man's buttons, trailing calloused fingertips against his skin. John shivered under Sherlock's touch, even as light as it was, and watched as Sherlock pulled his shirt apart, a little bit of worry making its way into his thoughts. Sherlock would see his scar, that great imperfection of his revealed to a surely perfect man (physically, at least.)

Sherlock smiled. "Don't worry, John." He leaned down and touched his lips softly, so softly, to John's damaged shoulder, and then his lips made their way over, down, pausing at a nipple, tongue swirling gently around it. John gasped and bucked up, and Sherlock added a bit of teeth in, still gently, and made John moan.

"God, Sherlock." The detective's mouth moved down, down, tongue swirling in his belly button, then down farther, until he released John's hand and unbuttoned and unzipped the older man's jeans. John propped himself on his elbows, eyes locked on Sherlock's. The detective removed the good doctor's jeans and boxers, throwing them to the floor, releasing John's erection, which the younger man then wrapped one pale hand around. He lowered his mouth, still watching John, and took the older man;s cock into his mouth.

It was possibly the most sexual thing John had ever seen. Sherlock, his mouth sliding down John's cock, basically eye-fucking him. Sherlock's tongue swirled around the head, and John gasped, cock twitching in the detective's hand and mouth. Sherlock took John in deep, the slid back up, releasing John's cock with a _pop_ that would have been insanely comical in any other situation. He took John in again and _sucked_ , cheeks hollowing, and then took John in _deeper_ , so deep—"Sherlock, you can't possibly—" but Sherlock could possibly. He took John all the way in to the balls, still watching the good doctor, head bobbing. John scrambled for purchase, one hand reaching up to the bed post—Sherlock filed that away for future reference—the fingers of the other tangling in the detective's hair. Tongue doing delicious things, Sherlock brought John, who came with a shout—"Oh my god, Sherlock,"—and, with one last lick, slid his body (still fully clothed) back up John's, eyes still on each other, and swallowed pointedly.

John unconsciously mimicked him, swallowing what little spit was left in his mouth, and pulled the younger man's head down for a fierce kiss. God, he could taste himself in Sherlock's mouth. "Now it's my turn," the good doctor growled.

* * *


	4. Teach Me Chapter 4

John reversed their positions and crawled on top of Sherlock, just staring at him for a moment. He truly had no clue what to do. He'd never been with a man before. But really, how hard could it be? He figured getting Sherlock naked as well would be a good place to start. John straddled Sherlock and discarded his already open shirt, tossing it on the floor. He was still a bit self-conscious, for he'd gotten a little softer when he came back from Afghanistan, but the longing he saw clearly displayed in Sherlock's eyes gave him confidence. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock's jaw line, licking his way down to the collar of Sherlock's shirt. John decided to do what he realized he's always wanted to do, and unbuttoned those straining buttons he could just imagine begging for mercy. Really, he could just imagine them crying for the pressure to be released. So, slowly, marveling at actually being able to do it, John freed those straining buttons. He parted the detective's shirt, running his hands down the alabaster chest revealed beneath him. _God. Nnnrgh._ Not wanting to get ahead of himself, he kept his hands away from the younger man's zipper and focused only on his chest. God, what a chest. Dark nipples, abs sculpted just the right way—well defined but not grossly so. Yum. He became aware again of Sherlock watching him, and leaned down to kiss him lightly. Sherlock's hands came up, one hand on the good doctor's hair and another cupping his cheek. As the kiss got deeper, John realized he could stay like this, kissing Sherlock, for hours. Though the idea was definitely appealing, he broke away, scraping his teeth on the underside of Sherlock's jaw, then sinking them into the detective's neck. Sherlock's hands, now on John's ass, squeezed a little. John licked where he had bitten (slightly hoping in the back of his mind that there would be a mark later) and moved down, scraping his teeth over one pert nipple, hearing the younger man's gasp and smiling a little. He moved down farther, trailing light kisses over the detective's flat abdomen, feeling him quiver. The good doctor slid his tongue under the waistband of the detective's trousers. Sherlock's hand found John's hair, not gripping, long fingers just lightly stroking John's scalp. John rested his cheek on Sherlock's stomach for a moment, breathing him in, and trying to figure out just what he was going to do next. He'd never been on the giving end of a blowjob (the receiving end, sure, women in three continents and all that after all.) But…

"Stop thinking, John," Sherlock said, his voice (his _voice_ ) rumbling quite interestingly in the ear that was pressed to Sherlock's stomach. John did as he was told and stopped thinking, and just did whatever he wanted. He unbuttoned and unzipped Sherlock's jeans and gripped them and the younger man's boxers, who, as always, knew exactly what was going through John's head and accordingly lifted his hips so the good doctor could remove his jeans and boxers (tossing those, too, on the floor.)John inhaled sharply as Sherlock's erection sprang free. On his stomach, John slid between the younger man's legs and blew gently on the tip of his cock. Sherlock lifted his hips up towards John's mouth, which came down to lick Sherlock's cock, slowly, from base to tip, over the top, and down the other side to the base again. The detective released a catchy little breath, and John's mouth went to his balls, laving one gently, then sucking the loose skin into his mouth. Sherlock's hand tightened in John's hair and John switched to the other ball, bringing his hand up to rub his thumb over the tip of Sherlock's cock. As the detective's breathing grew harsher, the good doctor's hand and mouth switched places, fingers fondling the younger man's balls as he took him slowly onto his mouth. It was a new feeling for John, but one he decidedly liked—Sherlock warm and large in his mouth, musky taste enveloping him. His tongue explored what it could do in this position, deciding the best choice was to swirl around the tip of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock evidently liked that, his one hand joining the other in John's hair. The good doctor took him farther into his mouth, slowly, and moved up again, slowly. He did it again, and again, and cold feel Sherlock holding back, probably not wanting to thrust too hard or push the good doctor's head too far down, conscious of the fact that this was John's first time in this particular situation. John met Sherlock's eyes and released the detective's cock with a popping noise that would have been comical in any other situation. John slid up the taller man's body, Sherlock's hands running down John's back to grip his ass, and John brought his head down for a heated, intense kiss that left them both a bit breathless. The good doctor trailed his tongue back down the detective's body and, eyes still locked on each other, licked the side of Sherlock's cock gently, almost playfully, and said, "I know you're holding back. Show me what you want me to do. _Control_ me." Sherlock's eyes widened a bit and his hands moved back to John's hair, tugging lightly, leading him, controlling him. He brought John's head down until he was just inside the good doctor's mouth, and then thrust up. He held John's head in place as he thrust again and again, until John held the detective's hips down and sucked, _hard_ , cheeks hollowing, hand cupping Sherlock's balls. Sherlock shook under John, moaning, "John, I'm going to come—" John, frankly, was perfectly fine with that and added a bit of tongue to encourage Sherlock. The detective made a low, animal, incredibly fucking sexy noise, and came in John's mouth as the older man's tongue laved the underside of Sherlock's cock. When John was sure the younger man was finished, he released Sherlock's cock with a rather obscene sucking sound, examining the taste of Sherlock's come in his mouth. (He decided he definitely liked it, though he would deny everything if you asked him.) He swallowed and crawled up next to Sherlock, gently kissing the still gasping detective's shoulder as their hands found each other, intertwined, and gripped tight.

* * *


	5. Teach Me Chapter 5

John woke the next morning wrapped up in Sherlock. He almost tried to disentangle himself, but then thought better of it. Sherlock was actually _sleeping_ for once. But, well, shit. This was a bit unexpected. It most certainly wasn't unwelcome, bit John thought he should maybe take a damn hard look at his sexuality. Or perhaps he should just completely ignore this little discontinuity. Because dear god, this… _thing_ was amazing. And Sherlock…. John remembered how, when Sherlock had fucking convinced him to kiss him, he said he had been kissed, and he'd implied that he'd had sex before. Now, this was something john really hadn't had a chance to mull over (okay, he'd had time, but he had been pretty actively trying to avoid thinking of Sherlock and sex at the same time.) But anyway, what? Sherlock had sex? With whom? With how many whoms? Was he gay? Or bi? Or what? (because it really wasn't possible to label Sherlock Holmes, in any aspect of life.) Sherlock was such a sexual creature, but John had never actually imagined him being, well, _sexual_.

"Shut up. You're thinking too loudly."

John (as well as certain other parts of his body) jerked as Sherlock's voice (sleep roughened and far lower than usual and _oh dear lord_ ) unexpectedly rumbled against his back. (Yes, he was the little spoon.) "What do you m—never mind." He snuggled back against Sherlock, and the detective's arms wrapped tighter around John, cheek nuzzling his doctor.

"Yes, I've had sex multiple times with multiple people. Gasp."

"People?"

"Yes, men and women." John could practically hear the eye-roll. "A few more men than women. And you're thinking, wow, how many has he had sex with? Six men and three women. I'm not asexual John." John laughed, a kind of heh-you-don't-need-to-tell-me type laugh. Again, John could imagine the eye-roll. "Yes, obviously. But what I mean is that I was never asexual. It wouldn't make sense for me to meet you and suddenly, as though flipping a switch, whoah, I suddenly want sex. No. I enjoy sex, I enjoy sexual things. But you ARE special John, so incredibly special. You're the only person I've ever felt emotionally attached to. No—that's not the right wording. I can't find the words for it. But you, you're it. You're everything. And I never imagined I would ever feel anything this _strong_ , this…consuming. It's so unexpected. _You're_ so unexpected."

John turned so he was facing his detective, and kissed him lightly on the tip of the nose. "The feeling's mutual, Sherlock. You realize, I always thought I was straight. And I guess I still consider myself to be straight. Maybe. I have no idea. The only man I've ever been attracted to is you. I guess I'm, I don't know, Sherlock-sexual or something. Because it's not just your body. That's practically an afterthought. It's everything about you. Your massive intellect, your vulnerability—don't give me that look, you're so vulnerable at times—your 3AM symphonies that I get on you about all the time but are actually fucking beautiful, just, everything. I—well, hm. I, erm, I love you, Sherlock." John majorly freaked mentally for a moment as Sherlock's face went blank, but then a smile spread across his face, one of those real, heartfelt, glorious, beautiful smiles that Sherlock treated John to sometimes, when he was really, truly happy. Sherlock leaned forward and kissed his blogger gently, sweetly, and drew back still smiling.

"I love you too, John." He kissed John again, and when they came up for air, something occurred to John.

"Wait a minute. You cunning bastard. Did you really need me to teach you how to kiss?"

Sherlock laughed. "Actually, yes. But there were myriad other ways I could have gone about learning how that didn't include you, and what would have been the point of those?"

John grinned. "Well, I'm definitely glad you included me as part of your devious little plan." Sherlock deftly flipped John under him, straddling the good doctor. He leaned down, nipping his ear, and said, "Me, too. I wouldn't want it any other way."

* * *


End file.
